


tell me you love me (when i least expect it)

by syncopate (orphan_account)



Category: SHINee
Genre: 2nd person POV, M/M, Writing Exercise, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:30:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8100778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/syncopate
Summary: the first time he tells you he loves you, you laugh





	

**Author's Note:**

> old fic i found, reposted from my aff, just for fun

**first.**

 

the first time he tells you he loves you, you laugh. 

 

it isn't mocking, although you can tell by his face he thinks it is. it is breathless and shocked and disbelieving.  _ why, _ you want to say,  _ how could you? me?  _

 

and you wait for him to laugh too, taunting and almost cruel, like the words were a punchline to a joke you weren't privy to. instead, he shies away, almost like a kicked pet, features shuttered and blank, and you realize, with a shock of fear, that he is hiding from you.

 

and you grab his wrist, thumb hitting too hard against bone, but you ignore the wince and lean forward, voice urgent. 'but you are beautiful,' you start, fingers sliding across his cheekbones.  _ and i am not, _ you think.

 

you are dark shadows dragging down the skin of your face, eyelids frozen open in the night, you are too many thoughts in too few hours, too many emotions in too little space. you are not enough, not for love.

and you want to tell him, to whisper protestation, to warn him, tell him he shouldn't love this wreck of a human.

 

but he is closing in, slow quiet determined, and his fingers tangle in your hair, your damaged too dry over bleached hair. and all the words dissolve into ether, the thoughts fall into mist. because his mouth touches yours, tentative, soft, still unsure. his eyelashes brush against yours, catching and dropping, touches like the invisible caresses of the wind. his fingers points of almost pain in your scalp. 

 

and you lean into him too, breathless now for a different reason.

 

it really does feel like you are loved.

 

**second**

 

the second time he tells you he loves you, you’re pretty sure you aren’t supposed to hear it. 

 

it’s said like a reflex, like the words are crowding out from his throat, jumping from his tongue into the air.  _ i love you _ a stray bullet that grazes the sides of your heart. when he freezes beneath you, limbs still twined in yours, skin slick and hot against yours, you look down and forget how to breathe. 

 

he has always been beautiful, like something extracted from another realm, something beyond your reach. but lying there languid and open, sweat beading past his eyes, chest moving too rapid,  he is incandescent. and you wonder if the words are real, could be real. if that elusive four letter word is really something that he associates with you. 

 

his eyes flicker with something sorrowful. and you think about the words trapped at the back of your mouth, think about saying it, letting them escape, free.

 

but you don’t. you lean down and press your mouth to his again, dig your fingers into his hips. and when he gasps into your mouth, you hope he can wait.

 

**third**

the third time he says he loves you, it isn’t directed at you.

 

it’s said into the phone, almost biting.  _ i love him _ . and you’re amazed at the stark simplicity of it, how easily it slides out from him. 

 

the person on the phone must say something bitter because his eyes narrow and the edges of his mouth pinch. 

 

‘it doesn’t matter, it won’t matter. i _ love _ him.’ the insistence in his voice curls over your skin, lashing like whips of inadequacy. perhaps he would be happier with someone who could promise love without thinking too hard about the weight of that word. perhaps it would be easier alone, even if loneliness is often a night terror you don't want to acknowledge.

 

'i'm not talking anymore.' the snap of his voice is sharp and so is the abrupt sigh that darts out of his mouth. 

 

you try to shrink away but he looks up. and you watch as his eyes shade shock and worry and then soften into affection.

 

'minho thinks i'm wasting my time.' the tone could be accusatory, but isn't. it's resigned and sad, and you want to kiss away every doubt planted.

 

'kibum,' you say. and you're not sure where you're going with this, how to tell him that the burden of your imperfections isn't something he should need to love. words are your gift but sometimes under the force of his eyes you forget how to connect them together. 

 

"jjong," he says back, tone an almost mimicry of yours. and then he laughs and something heavy across your shoulders lifts. 

 

"let's just see where it goes, okay?" 

 

and then he bridges the distance between you, touches light fingers over the dark shadows under your eyes. there's something that skitters over your backbone, like stardust, something magic.

 

**fourth**

 

the fourth time he tells you he loves you, it's scribbled on a note.

 

when you see it, perched almost precariously on the edge of your desk, and no sign of him, you think it’s goodbye, you think he has run out of the love he promised. you think it should be expected.

 

what isn’t expected is that strange ripping feeling that starts from your chest, like something that is holding your lungs and heart together is tearing apart.

 

and you wonder if maybe that's what a breaking heart feels like.

 

the note itself is a throwaway scribbled thing, ( _ hey, had to run off to see my grandma, didn’t want to wake you. call you later? love you.)  _ but to you it feels a little like a revelation, that maybe the strength of the way he loves is no longer something you want to hide from, no longer something you want to doubt, or fear.

 

that maybe that yet unnamed emotion that spins in your chest when he smiles at you is something you could call love. that maybe love is more than a feeling that burns slow in the pit of your stomach, maybe it’s a decision you make early in the morning, when your eyes open and the world seems new, to treat that person like he’s the most precious. that maybe even if you don’t really ever know, you can choose. 

 

when you call him that night, and his voice lilts over the line, you think suddenly,  _ when did you become the only thing i need? _

 

**∞**

 

the first time you tell him you love him, he laughs. 

 

the silence after the choked laughter feels familiar, a trickle of cold water sliding through the veins leading to your heart. but you stay still, curl fingers tighter over his, and wait. 

 

he tilts his head and looks at you, searching, questioning. 

 

‘don’t say it unless you mean it. because i’ll believe you.’

 

the quiet words fall like glass splinters into your flesh. perhaps he too has been struggling with doubt, with the meaning of this uncertain relationship that you started on. 

 

‘i mean it,’ you tell him, just as soft. 

 

and the light that fills his face makes you regret not saying it earlier, not trying to put words to emotion sooner, for letting fear make a home in your ribcage and muffle everything else.

 

he lurches forward and catches your mouth in his own, and the kiss feels different, more. like for the first time, your hearts are beating in harmony. 

 

‘i love you,’ you say again, against his skin. ‘i love you.’

 

and you think you can say it into eternity.


End file.
